


Winding Down

by Baneberry



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quick & Messy, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crosshairs and Hound still have a little energy they need to burn off. Why not help one another out in getting rid of it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winding Down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend! Just mindless, short smut.
> 
> Bon appetit!

Their systems were still a rushing blaze, coolant pumping through circuits and cables to keep their bodies from overheating.

"Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?" Hound asked, stepping out onto the battle field to admire his work. Chaos and ruin and dead Decepticons lay shattered and broken at his feet. Hound sighed happily, slipping cygar back between his lips. "Just… Beautiful."

Crosshairs chortled. His spark was still pulsing a mile a minute. “Not bad for an older model,” he taunted. Guns retracted back into their housing along his arms.

Smoke trickled from the cygar and Hound’s gun barrels. “And not bad fer a showy young punk,” he snickered, giving his partner a playful but rough elbow jab in the shoulder. “Course ya still need lotsa practice.”

"And you still need to learn some self control," Crosshairs returned the jab with a hard slap on the older bot’s back, "you use up ammunition faster than I can crank ‘em out."

Hound cocked his guns. “I’m a one man army, kid.”

"Yeah, I can tell."

They fell quiet, surveying the carnage. Hound invented. “Still got some adrenaline in ya, boy?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

Crosshairs laughed. “Think you can keep up, twinkle-toes?” Nonetheless, he inched forward, and Hound just had to admire the way his coattails framed his hips.

Hound holstered his guns. He grabbed Crosshairs by an antenna, yanked him flush against his heavy-set body. “Try not t’fall behind, pretty bot,” he sneered, carelessly spitting out the cygar.

Kissing was a human act, but one the two Autobots found to be quite nice. It was clumsy at first—always was, especially with that thick beard—but soon they fell into a groove, lips smashing and biting, perfectly imitating a human kiss, and not just at the surface. The passion was just right given the situation.

Hound reached down, roughly grabbing the younger bot by the crotch. Crosshairs moaned into his mouth; he did not break the kiss. Hound smirked as Crosshairs rut into his hand, gliding against rough, large fingers; thin strands of lubricant seeped from the edges of his closed panel. With a little coaxing and tapping, the panel opened, and Crosshairs snarled, biting Hound’s bottom lip as two fingers probed his channel. Not too deep, brushing against the ceiling nodes.

Crosshairs pulled back, Hound half-helping him onto the ground. He laid on his back, spread eagle before the older Autobot. “C’mon, c’mon,” Crosshairs whined, fingers splaying open his channel with desperation.

"Kids these days," Hound chortled. His own panel retracted, unit pressurizing. Fairly large and, well, fat, as Crosshairs had once called it. Hound thanked him, beaming with pride. He bowed down, minding old injuries, taking Crosshairs by the knees. His coat was spread out like a blanket beneath him, and oh those Goddamn hips.

Hound was gonna destroy them.

Crosshairs sputtered a cry as the first few inches slid in; his slick channel walls quickly adjusted. This wasn’t the first time they had _this_ guest over. Hound sneered; he actually enjoyed the tightness. It was exhilarating. Small, but not too small; tight, but not too tight. He steadied himself, and when all the adjustments clicked into place, he withdrew and slammed into home.

"God!" Crosshairs howled, head rolling back. Fingers groped blindly at the ground, looking for leverage. The pressure forcing his channel to open wider around the unit’s immense girth— Ah, but he wasn’t complaining.

Hound laughed, working up a rhythm. “Stay with me, kid!” He snapped his hips with a grunt, and Crosshairs’s entire body rolled along the ground.

Crosshairs finally looked up, one eye squinted. “Jus’ don’t collapse on me before I overload.”

Hound guffawed; big arms were suddenly thrown around Crosshairs, pulling him up into a sit in his lap. Completely impaling the younger Autobot on his unit. Crosshairs screamed, digging his fingers into seams along Hound’s shoulders.

"That’s more like it!" Hound growled.

Crosshairs moaned with each thrust. He bounced in Hound’s lap, using his shoulders to stay upright. In between pumps, he paused to roll his hips, just appreciate the fat unit stuffing him completely full. He whimpered, rising again, slamming down again.

Hound took his waist, helping him along the way. His hips bucked, metal slapping against metal, his unit always remaining deeply seated inside Crosshairs. “Doin’ pretty good, boy,” he said, though his breathing was picking up.

Crosshairs went to reply with his own snide remark, but one last, hard thrust had him falling off the edge. He went stiff, howling as he overloaded, transfluid attempting to squeeze through the unit inside him. A minute later, he sagged forward, spent and exhausted, the adrenaline finally dry.

"Y—"

"Yeah, right," Crosshairs interjected. Hound watched, baffled, as Crosshairs slowly climbed from his lap. Whimpered at suddenly being empty; transfluid finally poured free, running down his thighs.

"What—"

Crosshairs swished a hand. He got on his hands and knees before the older Autobot, taking the still wet pressurized cord in one hand. Hound crooned. Crosshairs smiled; he pumped the unit once before bowing forward, slowly taking it in his mouth a few inches at a time. His jaw creaked, but he pressed onward, and Hound was close to wailing when the edge of his fat cord brushed against the mech’s intake.

Being able to control your gag reflex came in quite handy at times.

Crosshairs moaned around the unit, sending vibrations through its length. He worked the cord in his mouth, sucking with some rather obscene slurps. Hound loved it, loved the way those lips just pulled down his cord; he poured over the younger Autobot, digging fingers into his aft. Crosshairs groaned again, and so did his partner.

Crosshairs’s jaw was starting to ache, but he was determined to see this through. His lips dragged back and forth over the cord, optics shuddered, and damn if it wasn’t such an erotic sight. Hound whispered a grateful prayer to Primus. He bucked, slamming into those intakes, receiving a tiny grunt, and—

Crosshairs choked, attempting to swallow the rush of transfluid gushing down his throat. He quickly freed himself, sitting up with a gasp; he coughed up some of the sticky mess, gulping down the rest.

Hound sighed. He sat back, content, lazy smile on his face. Crosshairs wiped some of the transfluid from his lips. He sat back, too, ignoring the lubricant and fluids caked along his thighs and groin.

"Yer mouth is better at suckin’ than talkin’," Hound sighed.

Crosshairs snorted, kicking the older Autobot’s knee. “An’ yer guns are _much_ bigger.”


End file.
